


World in Review

by Prefect (vaderade)



Category: Original Work, The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Canon Compliant, M/M, Original Character(s), Original Character-centric, Original Fiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-23
Updated: 2019-01-28
Packaged: 2019-10-18 14:50:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17582927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vaderade/pseuds/Prefect
Summary: A two-part series of longer drabbles I wrote for Rictus and Flashsteel, examining the history of their relationship.





	1. Chapter 1

Flashsteel keyed in the passcode and entered the Captain's quarters, stepping over the threshold into the sanitised, blue-white light. Five megacycles had gone by since he had last been there. It was somewhat messier than Flashsteel remembered. And perhaps, that it felt colder than usual.

> **> review data_pac371**
> 
> [LOADING DATA_pac371]
> 
> [ACCESS CODE:] >*********
> 
> [ACCESS GRANTED]
> 
> .
> 
> 10%
> 
> .
> 
> 15%
> 
> .
> 
> 35%
> 
> .
> 
> 67%
> 
> .
> 
> .
> 
> 95%
> 
> .
> 
> 100%
> 
> [FILE CORRUPTED, DEBUG Y/N] **y**
> 
> [SCRUBBING]
> 
> .
> 
> .
> 
> [STITCHING]
> 
> .
> 
> .
> 
> [REVIEW PACKET Y/N] **y**
> 
> .
> 
> **[date_unknown] [time_unknown]**
> 
> _—'Everyone wanted a piece of it,' Flashsteel sniffed, 'your genius, whatever… 'Cept for me.' All 'cept me.'_
> 
> _'This has to stop.' Rictus repeated, tone clipped. 'You're a senior officer, and your behaviour is unsightly.'_
> 
> _'Damn right,' Flashsteel vouched angrily, 'but not as unsightly as you were back when, kissing my aft. Prick.' He choked on the memory. Not really any particular one, just the glancing blow of years past._
> 
> _'Y'like having people below you?' he asked shakily, regretting each word as it left his lips, but unable to stop. 'How's it feel, huh? I'd like to know.'_

The wide berth, made to fit a warframe, took up much of the space within. It was covered over with a scattered set of pillows, all the dark standard issue sort, all made of regulation material. Coarse and not particularly comfortable. Serviceable, however, as Flashsteel recalled. 

Three were atop the slab, one amiss, lying in a haphazardly strewn stack of data-pads along the floor. Flashsteel knelt to retrieve it, also gathering the numerous half-read reports and placing both onto the berth.

> _'Wouldn't you, now,' Rictus murmured beneath a beating brow, lips barely moving._
> 
> _Flashsteel felt his spark pulse quicken._
> 
> _Two beats._
> 
> _Four beats._
> 
> _Six beats._
> 
> _Bracing, waiting for the strike to come? He'd pay for that statement. What did he feel? Fear? Foolishly. Anticipation? Incomprehensibly. Longing? Confusingly._
> 
> _Perhaps all three co-mingled, trapped as he felt under that piercing gaze._

Much was and much wasn't as Flashsteel remembered it. Rictus had usually kept himself and his quarters meticulously clean. It always was the case that he would glare at Flashsteel for even the slightest bit of dirt being tracked into his room, or chastise him for not putting empty rations into the sanitiser. 

Rictus said once that it would be overly familiar to consider any trash littered on his floor to be mutual, and that a good Second-in-Command would pull their weight. It was a joke, in a manner of speaking, but still one that was barbed. Yet Flashsteel had little idea of how to protest it at the time.

> _Rictus stood from where he had been sitting at the edge of the berth, magnificent and proud at full height, pristine armor clattering with a gentle and appealing noise._
> 
> _And in what seemed quicker than a green ray at dusk, Rictus pushed him backward. Hard. His palm was flush with the branded plate over Flashsteel's spark, and it moved him until the flexible weave of his tires met the wall of the room. The uncomfortable screech of his own living metal on the numb wall sent a jolt up Flashsteel's struts._

A small table and set of two chairs occupied the back corner, empty cubes littered across it, more unread textpads stacked atop both. 

Before the war began winding down, they had reviewed their course and their missions together frequently there, formulating their plans, editing their briefings. More than once had they taken their meals there, something insubstantial out of the dispenser in the corner. 

They'd nearly broken it another time.

> _'Don't look so hopeful.' Rictus said. Though his voice was level, it betrayed a certain disgust. 'If you want to know so badly, you'll clean yourself up and look to the crew, Lieutenant.'_
> 
> _Flashsteel didn't know such look had even crossed his features. The truth was that he could barely feel his faceplate, except for his lips, which tingled as he spoke. He barely felt as if he would register the slap he had half-way expected. It didn't come._

One of the chairs had fallen, one evidently that had been used for storage. Numerous stacks of whetstones, dulled and useless, appeared to have toppled it.

Flashsteel gulped back a gasp, optics stinging. He remembered the blade Rictus had raised at his throat merely a metacycle ago. He had stood his ground, but mostly because he assumed that Rictus wouldn't have readied himself in such a way without the promise of battle. He should have known better. But Rictus hadn't harmed him, though he could well have before Flashsteel even had time to fire the cannon he had readied at his former Captain's beating spark.

There was a brief moment, a brief and wrenching moment, just as the other crew members had stormed onto the bridge behind Rictus, where Flashsteel thought he saw Rictus' expression betray a feeling of remorse. Before it contorted in newfound hatred, the expression was almost something Flashsteel could yet find mercy for. When Rictus attacked, Flashsteel had thrown him to the ground and levelled the cannon again. This time: at Rictus' head.

He didn't fire. He couldn't, remembering that lonely face, and the wide look that lingered in Rictus' unpitying gaze.

> _Rictus withdrew his hand and quite nearly slid away as easily as he had stood. But Flashsteel caught that strong hand before it fell, purely action, no thought, and almost shocked himself with the speed of it._
> 
> _'I think you know,' he said, unbidden. 'I think you could tell me.'_
> 
> _Rictus’ features betrayed no confusion, but his voice did._
> 
> _'I… could?' he said, lacking the confidence to make it a statement._
> 
> _Flashsteel tugged at the hand to pull Rictus closer. Rictus put out his other hand to stop his fall, effectively pinning Flashsteel against the wall._
> 
> _'Well?' Flashsteel slurred. 'How's this?'_
> 
> _He got to watch as the realisation dawned on Rictus. The tall mech's serious expression fell for a fleeting moment. He seemed almost regretful. Flashsteel wasn't sure what to make of it. He wasn't sure that he had even seen it, as what came after it was such a laugh that he'd never expect to hear in a situation such as this one._
> 
> _Rictus leaned in and whispered in his characteristic, honeyed cruelty: 'Ask me again when you’re sober.'_
> 
> _Then he cast off Flashsteel's hand and showed him the door._

Flashsteel had to curl his servos into a fist to stop them from shaking. The disarray around him was as uncomfortable than witnessing that desperate expression, than the ensuing entreatments by Rictus to commit murder on top of mutiny.

Rictus hadn't been himself for at least fifty years. But the past five must have truly changed him, and Flashsteel found himself infuriated with the miserable ruin that Rictus had created, and not remembering what he even entered the place for. He kicked at the datapads littering the floor, scattering them across the room, as if to vent his frustrations. But finding it unsatisfactory, he could only leave, locking the door to the darkened room behind him.


	2. Chapter 2

To Rictus’ surprise, Flashsteel did return, although only after a stretch of glum, taciturn avoidance. The behavior was not a cause for concern. More importantly, the crew’s vigor blossomed with just the slightest bit more attention from their Lieutenant. The bridge was now all a hum of concentration, displacing the formerly panicked silence that was only percussively disrupted by the shrill and frantic sounds of _The Prefect_ ’s readouts.

What motivated the change in Flashsteel’s behaviour and how it came to pass, Rictus did not assume, beyond that Flashsteel had heeded his advice to some degree. It was enough. 

Rictus had already put aside thoughts of Flashsteel’s other offer. In the interests of their professional relationship, in light of the cold treatment Flashsteel had been giving Rictus lately, and because the only time it was even mildly appropriate to consider it was the middle of the night, unable to recharge, hating himself for even thinking to carry on with his former captain, his current subordinate, the one whose station was consistently marked by a haze of confusion.

Rictus was calm about the matter. Of course, he thought little of it. And he didn’t expect anything to come of it, excepting an apology.

Flashsteel came to Rictus’ quarters a little more than a fortnight after their previous private conversation: not leaning on the frame of the hab door per the last few times, rather, standing stock straight with a nervous twitch in the EM impulses filling out the surrounding air.

Rictus felt something like apprehension settling into his frame. Flashsteel’s usual free rein on his field only served as a perturbation that reminded Rictus of his own— he clamped his signal tightly to himself, masking it, watching and waiting.

“Shouldn’t you be recharging?” Rictus asked with restraint, though trepidation clenched at his spark.

“Should be. Couldn’t manage.” Flashsteel said. His tone was soft, but the words were numb. “Had to talk with you.” 

Under normal circumstances, perhaps Rictus would not have ushered Flashsteel in, or perhaps he would have upbraided his Lieutenant for calling so late. But, and perhaps only for the sake of the angry murk that Rictus had been plumbing the depths of for the past few nights, Rictus let him in.

Flashsteel stepped from the white of the hall into the dimmed night lighting of Rictus’ personal habsuite. The door closed with a tight compression of its seal, leaving Flashsteel standing with Rictus at the entrance, the dazzling chrome accents of his plating catching and flinging what light they caught across the room. Rictus could see the ebbing of the bright biolights on Flashsteel’s chest and pelvic plates, casting their own haze about him. 

Rictus took a deep breath, waiting for Flashsteel to speak. When it didn’t come immediately, he then attempted to encourage—

“Well—?”

“I—“ Flashsteel interjected simultaneously, then stopping short.

A second clicked by in silence.

“Sorry.” Flashsteel laughed, clearly feeling uncomfortable.

“It’s nothing.” Rictus dismissed easily.

“I was only—“

“No excuse is necessary.” Rictus narrowed his optics. “Why are you here, Flashsteel?”

Flashsteel didn’t meet his gaze immediately, seemingly admiring the purple hue of the light as it reflected in his shimmering blue plates and cast shadows across his faceplate. Flashsteel stole glances to Rictus’ unyielding expression, gleaming optics like searchlights. Finding nothing there, he spoke hesitantly.

“I came here to tell you that you were right.” Flashsteel’s tone flagged shamefully. “I’ve been negligent.”

Rictus snorted. _Understatement._ “And?” he asked.

He expected anger from Flashsteel, but somehow the word seemed to only cut him down smaller. “And… acting out.”

“You said a great many things the last time you were in this room.” Rictus crossed his arms. “I’d call it ‘unprofesssional,’ but ‘insubordinate’ seems more appropriate in this arrangement. Wouldn’t you say?”

“Yes—“ The sound stopped in Flashsteel’s throat it seemed. He hissed around the sound of the word, “…sir.”

Rictus nodded, gaze peeling from where it threatened to bite holes in Flashsteel’s frame. 

“Good.” he said, trailing for a moment. And it was the truth. For that moment. Flashsteel relaxed too soon with a gentle, near-silent clinking of his armoured plates. 

Then the moment was over.

“Well. Good though it may be to hear you admit them, I was already well aware of your recent faults,” snapped Rictus, Flashsteel straightening his struts in response. “Consider your apology accepted.” He pressed the lock to the pressurised door, and it flew open in response.

“Hold on, just—” Flashsteel pulled Rictus’ hand from the lock, a hint of desperation falling into his voice. His optics then went wide, nervous, in realisation of what he had done. Rictus found himself perplexed and hesitated to say anything whatsoever, merely glaring down at him. The Lieutenant gulped back his fear, and stammered, “I have more. More to say.”

“Then do so.” Rictus said with disdain.

The door shut again.

Flashsteel loosened his grip, though Rictus did not try to remove his hand from under Flashsteel’s. Flashsteel seemed frozen, optics swimming again over Rictus’ unmoving expression, his ill-disciplined field waving wildly between them and churning murkily.

Flashsteel recoiled and pulled his hand back. Rictus’ fell noncommittally by his side.

“I— The data. The other night. It was… it was damaged.” He stumbled over his words. “But I remember everything. —Or at least I think I do.” Flashsteel said, the shame reading heavily in his hurt expression.

“I kinda wish I hadn’t said a lot of the slag about…” Flashsteel gulped, another flare of unease pulsing through the surrounding air. “…Well, you know.” Flashsteel trailed, confidence crumbling.

“I’m sure I don’t.” Rictus said, voice remaining low, though impatient. “Be more specific.”

“You really want me to spell it out?” The shorter mech sighed, the light from his optics pooling across the crease of his cheeks as he briefly clenched shut their covers. Reopening them, he turned at an oblique to Rictus, gaze averted, and crossed his arms as if pressing his plates to his spark.

“You had a reputation in the force, Rictus.” Flashsteel said. “You knew it then and didn’t care much either way, but I cared and didn’t tolerate the gossip. Who cares what you do to blow off charge? —With anyone else, I might have worried about security, but you?” Flashsteel smiled shallowly. “No way.”

Rictus rubbed his servos into the strut connections at the back of his neck. Talking to Flashsteel had such a laborious, stalling quality at times— a sentimental one at that. Reputations were as unimportant then as now. There was nothing to this context. As with bringing up much of the past. He needed no more disquieting reminders of Flashsteel’s former position as compared to his own.

“The, uh, well, invitation,” Flashsteel said with some difficulty, finally catching Rictus’ attention again, “was… all that talk I heard back then catching up with me.” Flashsteel lifted his hands to cover his faceplate, groaning. “Or something. I guess. I don’t know where it came from, I’d never have said anything like that sober, even if maybe I still would have thought about— no, no. I don’t know what I want. I don’t know.”

Rictus processed for a moment, sifting for what was actually important out of it all. Flashsteel vented with a hiss in the seconds that passed, hands still plastered to his helm.

“…So.” Rictus said, at length, hand having returned to his side, field still leashed and tone still controlled. “You’re withdrawing it? Or not?”

“I…” Flashsteel tugged down his arms, slowly. “I guess I thought you’d want that.” He then turned to look Rictus in the optics. “Do you?”

The response was not what Rictus expected. 

It was on him now? How childish, he couldn’t help but think, to be unable to answer the easiest questions of desires, and so foist the onus of expectation on someone else. And so maudlin! To become so worked up over denial of wants, motivations, to dodge the point as a result of it.

Interfacing was easy. It was so easy, nothing like the muck Rictus had to tread through with anything else concerning Flashsteel. There was nothing complex in finding him attractive or in revealing it. 

Rictus always knew exactly what he wanted. Grimly, he was dead-set on having what he wanted. Even when it meant he would be seen as nothing more than those wants. They burnt white-hot above the cold depths of reason, and he couldn’t avoid any opportunity to satisfy both.

Rictus moved no closer, but loosened his expression, the usual smirk slipping over his face. “Not particularly.”

Flashsteel’s soft lips parted and the impulses surrounding him motioned to his surprise, those vivid turquoise optics wide and glowing, starlike. Hopeful. 

“Wasn’t really prepared for that.” Flashsteel mumbled.

Rictus shrugged, posture gradually becoming less wooden. “Weren’t very prepared in general.”

Flashsteel laughed quietly, looking around as if scouring for some kind of response. “So then…” he asked, “what happens now?”

“Stay and find out, leave and don’t, that depends on what you want. But if you do want it,” Rictus rumbled his engine, enjoying the shiver that rippled through Flashsteel’s field, “you’ll have to take it.”

Flashsteel stepped closer, their chestplates almost touching. Hesitantly, he lifted one hand to snake behind Rictus’ neck cables. Rictus felt his breath catch at the touch, grey-blue servotips feather-light, but still somehow searing into the grooves of his sensitive seams, down his struts.

Flashsteel pulled Rictus so tenderly, so softly, it was almost agonising, and began to unwind Rictus’ careful control. His field swept out bit by bit, washing over Flashsteel’s receptors in waves of delight and lust, anticipation and desire. They were optic to optic now, and Rictus could almost feel Flashsteel on him from the intensity of the impulses sending and receiving between them, like a buzz between their lips, the vents brushing Rictus’ maddeningly.

“Still unsure? Come on,” Rictus whispered against him, conspiratorial, “you’ve come this far.”

“Just thought you would’ve already taken the lead by now…” Flashsteel murmured, voice obscured by static.

“I wouldn’t force you.” Rictus softly replied, yet unmoving, though his pulse quickened to hear Flashsteel’s voice. “Either take for yourself, or tell me exactly what you want.”

“…Kiss me?”

Unresisted, Rictus lifted a hand to Flashsteel’s chin, tilting his face upward to admire his features. He hadn’t considered Flashsteel before in quite so much detail, the crease of his cheeks, the long, strong profile, the yielding looks… he paused, infinitesimally. And then tugged to close the gap.

It was chaste and brief, certainly worthy, but not anything more than a warm-up. When their lips parted, Flashsteel laced both arms behind Rictus’ helm and gave him the most sultry look that Rictus could never have imagined.

He whispered, “More like this.”

He pulled Rictus down, hard, and caught Rictus’ lips again. Rictus was surprised at the violence of it, then more delighted, feeling the sweep of Flashsteel’s glossa just at the edge of his lips, and parting the way for it. He could _kiss_ , Rictus hadn’t expected that Flashsteel could kiss like this. He could feel his sparkpulse pounding up, against his chest, as one of Flashsteel’s hands clutched at the back of his helm, the other clawing downwards, to the armature of his wing, clinging at the sensitive joints. Rictus’ hands found Flashsteel’s abdomen, coming around it and down, servos pressing at the seams of his hips. It drew a groan from Flashsteel, the sound trembling on Rictus’ lips.

It was encouraging— the next time they parted, Flashsteel’s eyes half-lidded, Rictus placed his hands below, to hold around Flashsteel’s legs. Flashsteel leapt, somewhat inelegantly, held up by Rictus with his legs crossed behind the flier’s midsection.

“Is this a mistake?” Flashsteel suddenly asked with a shiver, Rictus kissing along his jawline. “Maybe we shouldn’t be doing this.”

“Do you want to stop?” Rictus asked, pausing. He certainly didn’t. But he was also more of an expert of ignoring his own logic. And the choice was not his to make.

“No, no,” Flashsteel breathed, “don’t want that, it’s been so long, I…”

Rictus returned to kiss his lips, gently, with the slightest teasing pull of his denta at the lower lip.

“Shhh,” he whispered, “then what are you worried about?”

“Will they know?” Flashsteel asked.

“Not unless you tell them.” The crew, of course, ridiculous. “I won’t.”

Flashsteel nodded along, then asking, “And us?”

“This doesn’t leave this room.” Rictus said, as boldly as he thought it.

“Then please,” Flashsteel kissed softly wherever he could reach, once, twice, three times, begging, “don’t stop, please, make it harder, keep going, _I want you so bad and I don’t even know why_ , please, Rictus, please…”

Rictus was well past knowing why, and, at the moment, well past caring. He heard the sound and felt his engine rev as if it came from someone else— Flashsteel begging was enough to nearly crack his composure, but he was stronger than that, much stronger than that.

Rictus readjusted his grip and brought Flashsteel to the wall, not scraping the plates against it like the last time, but gently pressing him against it. Flashsteel’s modesty panel was against Rictus’ abdominal plates, rubbing against them with every step.

“Tell me what you want,” Rictus insisted, kissing him, an insistent peck on the lips that Flashsteel chased when they parted. 

“Spare no detail,” again, they kissed, Flashsteel scrambling to pull himself back towards Rictus. 

“And you’ll have it.”

Flashsteel was looking back at him, biting his own swollen lip, enough to bring a faint glow of energon to the surface, threatening to split. Rictus attempted to smooth at it with one thumb, holding up Flashsteel one-handed— mistake. It only prompted Flashsteel to open his mouth and sink the digit in. Rictus felt his vents click on to try to dissipate some of the rising heat in his frame. This suddenly felt almost dangerous. Flashsteel relinquished the finger back with a wet pop.

“You…” Rictus shook his head, quietly laughing in amazement.

Before he could even fully react to the situation, Flashsteel leaned himself in, the hot air from his cooling vents brushing along Rictus’ audial. All he could do to prevent from dropping Flashsteel was to rush to place his hand below the other leg again, shifting Flashsteel upwards and even closer.

“I want you.” Flashsteel whispered, vocaliser staticked and quiet. “I want you to pin me here and put your mouth over every inch of my frame. I want you in me, on me. You can have me on my knees, on the berth, in your lap, right here, still pinned here, anything, anything at all.” He sighed with pleasure, his modesty panels shifting against Rictus’ abdomen again as he adjusted to come closer still, struts shivering. “Anything, just let me have it. Leave me aching, wanting more.”

Flashsteel kissed the sensitive audial and Rictus’ steady vents caught again. The fresh wave of lust in Flashsteel’s field caught him and swept into his, electricity at their edges. He was so responsive, it was unbelievably tempting, arousing.

“You’ll have it.” Rictus replied, the static finally catching in the low, rumbling register of his vocaliser. “You’ll have it all.”

––––//––––

Flashsteel was curled up against Rictus, temperature stabilised, still coming down in the afterglow. Rictus had his arms around Flashsteel, one above and one below, languidly buffing out a swipe of white paint on Flashsteel’s back with a cleaning rag. When it didn’t appear to be budging, Rictus sighed and cast the cloth to the floor behind him, where the other stained and dirty ones lay piled neatly together.

“You should return to your hab.” Rictus said. 

Flashsteel looked up at him, dissatisfied.

“Eventually.” Rictus clarified.

Flashsteel nodded and tucked his head back in.

“I could carry you.” Rictus joked.

There was a clank when Flashsteel slapped a hand across Rictus’ aft.

“Fine, fine.” Rictus hissed.

They laid there, scarcely stirring, for a while longer. Rictus didn’t take note of the time, unusually, only feeling himself begin to drift, before Flashsteel wriggled out towards the edge of the berth.

Rictus onlined his optics, not even realising he had cut the input.

“Is this going to be something regular?” Flashsteel asked, a serious look on his face.

“You tell me,” Rictus replied.

Flashsteel scoffed. “Thanks for the straight answer, Rictus.”

“You came here.” Rictus said stoically. “It’s not my prerogative.”

“Yes, but do you even—“

“Want you? Obviously.”

“Then why?“

“I’m still your commanding officer. You know how this looks.” Rictus said. Flashsteel stiffened. “You realise how much protocol was violated by you even insinuating? Without any potential that I could have coerced you to?”

“Guess I’m lucky you only care about protocol when it suits you.”

“I never violate it without reason.” Rictus grimaced and rolled onto his back.

Flashsteel crawled back up against Rictus’ side, propping himself up on one elbow to get a better look at Rictus’ face, puzzled, trying to figure it out.

“If I came back…” he started.

“You could.” Rictus replied, looking over at Flashsteel. “There would be… certain contingencies.”

Flashsteel nodded, thinking. “Tell me.”

Rictus sat up, looking Flashsteel in the eye from above.

“First,” he said, dead serious, “I will not initiate anything. Ever.” 

Flashsteel looked as if he were about to protest, but Rictus laid a finger to his lips, then lifted up Flashsteel’s chin to force the other to look at him. “Not because I can’t, but because it isn’t my place.”

And because if they were ever caught, the blame could not fall on Rictus.

Flashsteel nodded, Rictus withdrew his hand.

“Second, you can end this at any time. It’s not up to me when you seek me out for,” he laughed curtly, “physical comforts. As much as I have a right to postpone or reject, so do you. Your word is final, and you do not have to give me any reasoning.”

“Third, what happens here does not leave here.” Rictus leaned in. “This is not about ‘love.’ And nothing out there is affected by what goes on in here.”

Flashsteel nodded, processing, then nodded more vigorously.

“Okay.” He said, then more confidently, “Okay, I can agree to that.”

“Good.” Rictus slid back down to his elbow. “Glad you can understand.”

Flashsteel leaned across and kissed him again, slow and deep.

“I’ll go.” he said when they parted. “I’ll be back again.”

“Mm.” Was all that Rictus managed.

Flashsteel moved to the edge of the berth, experimentally stepping down, finding his footing cautiously. He managed to stand, and began to make his way towards the door before Rictus interrupted.

“One more thing.”

Flashsteel turned back to look at Rictus, now sitting on the end of the berth, stern glare burning into Flashsteel.

“If you touch a drop of engex before coming here and soliciting me,” Rictus said, “you’ll go empty-handed. Come clean or not at all.”

Flashsteel nodded, a frightened look in his eyes. He then walked to the door and was gone.

Rictus collapsed. His last thoughts before recharge were solemn, regretful, and, in an unfamiliar way, ashamed.


End file.
